


oh, darling, my soul (you know it aches for yours)

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Confessions, F/F, Fluff, PWP, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Top!Yaz, soft, thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22801438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: She’s quiet on approach, so when she plucks the paperback from her girlfriend’s hands, the Doctor spends half a second still reading invisible words. “Oi, I was reading th— oh, hi. Hm. Are you going to — mmph.”The rest of her words die on her tongue when Yaz leans in, bare knee braced against the side of the sofa while she deprives her girlfriend of all her oxygen and its reserves in one single kiss.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 30
Kudos: 142





	oh, darling, my soul (you know it aches for yours)

There’s a book on the history of animation perched an inch from her face and she’s sprawled — in all sense of the word — along the length of her favourite purple sofa when Yaz finds her, bare feet skittish on cool metal floors. 

A pair of circular tan glasses grace the bridge of her nose and, with a surge of heat towards the pit of her stomach, Yaz commits the sight to memory for nights alone. 

She’s quiet on approach, so when she plucks the paperback from her girlfriend’s hands, the Doctor spends half a second still reading invisible words. “Oi, I was  _ reading  _ th— oh, hi. Hm. Are you going to —  _ mmph _ .” 

The rest of her words die on her tongue when Yaz leans in, bare knee braced against the side of the sofa while she deprives her girlfriend of all her oxygen and its reserves in one single kiss. 

There’s a  _ thud _ when the book falls to the floor unceremoniously, and the Doctor draws back if only to gasp at her girlfriend’s lack of care. “That was really disrespectful, Yaz.”

“I’ll be sure to apologise to it later,” Yaz hums, capturing the Doctor’s pouting bottom lip between pearly whites and offering a faint tug which leaves another gasp altogether to fall into the otherwise quiet library. “For now, though,” she continues, nudging her nose along her jaw until she reaches her ear. She nips lightly at the sensitive patch of skin just below it and the Doctor’s responding sigh is music to her very soul. “ — be a good girl and come to bed?”

There’s no questioning, no hesitation and no denial on the Doctor’s part when fingers interweave and pull at her hand, her legs already reduced to jelly when she follows numbly behind her girlfriend. 

A plain pullover hoodie dons Yaz’s upper half while a pair of dark red underwear hug the glorious curve of her backside, the low blue lights of the corridor gracing puckered white tiger stripes at her hips. The Doctor’s sure she’s drooling at the lips by the time her blue-panelled bedroom door falls before them. 

“You might want to take those off,” Yaz notes when, having pressed her girlfriend up against the other side of the door, their kiss is broken by the pesky but damned attractive spectacles still perched over green eyes. “But you should definitely wear them more often.”

“Oh?” the Doctor hums, coy and smirking and absolutely unaware of what’s coming. 

Yaz can only huff a laugh, peeling the glasses away and setting them aside. “Strip.”

The Doctor chokes on her next breath, leaning in for another kiss Yaz halts with a firm hand to her chest. 

“Uh-uh, c’mon, baby. You heard me,” Yaz chides gently, permitting her a chaste peck before she steps back, arms folding. 

_ Not so coy now, _ she wants to tease, but her girlfriend’s cheeks are already set ablaze. “Do you want to be good or not?”

A faint curse — definitely not in English, slips unbidden and needy from her lips as the Doctor briskly sets to work. She starts with her shirts, pulling both over her head in one sweeping gesture like a teenage boy. In her eagerness, her trousers come next, braces already hanging limply at her hips. It’s only when she gets the blue material around her ankles that she figures her boots should’ve come first. 

With a false yawn, Yaz perches on the end of the bed, crossing one leg over the other in a far more graceful manner than the flailing alien before her. 

The sound only increases her efforts, a brusk huff slipping free when she eventually tackles her sports bra. “Blasted thing. Don’t know why I even need one.”

“Because, sweetheart, you’ve made a habit of wading into cold water and no one wants their eyes poked out when we inevitably have to rescue you.” 

The Doctor’s cheeks flush anew and she ducks her head with a sheepish grin. 

“Plus,” Yaz notes, approaching once her girlfriend is simply down to her underwear. She lifts a hand, thumb brushing a dusky bud while a warm mouth laves over the other. “These are all mine. Don’t want anyone else getting a look in, baby.” 

“Yours,” the Doctor finds herself repeating, raising a hand to thread through Yaz’s hair and keep her blissfully attentive to her breasts until a smaller hand pins it to the surface of the door. 

“No touching,” Yaz growls, biting down in warning and earning a bone-deep shudder in return. 

The Doctor’s hands fall still and she keens, beginning to squirm the second Yaz pinches the skin between her teeth. 

“Good girl,” Yaz hums, drawing back to level her gaze, fingertips dancing over the affected area to further set her nerves alight. “You know the safeword, right?” 

Her girlfriend’s swallow is audible and, with a glint in her eye, Yaz arches a brow, peppering her jaw with ghosting kisses. “Say it. Tell me what it is, baby.” 

The Doctor gasps when a knee drives her legs apart and raises to the already scorching heat between her legs, reflexively reaching out to grasp at Yaz’s hips before she remembers the rule.  _ No touching.  _

“I’m waiting,” Yaz purrs, curling against her so she can rock firm hips forward and delight in the Doctor’s breathy cry. Her knee rises just a touch further, and she’s surprised to find lingering dampness coating it in seconds. It makes her moan, low and wanton. “God, you’re so ready for me already.” 

“Ah —  _ ah _ — antidisestablishmentarianism,” the Doctor reels with a gasp, desperately following the firm cant of her hips. 

Then, and only then does Yaz break character with a barely concealed snort. “Babe, I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Sorry — first word that came to mind,” the Doctor mumbles in barely concealed embarrassment. “It’s a — it’s a great word,” she adds, but Yaz’s answering glare stops any more in their tracks.

“What—” she returns her lips to her chest, sucking noisily at a swollen bud, “—is—” A hand slips between them, cupping and palming at growing heat until the Doctor is melting against her. “— the safe word?”

“Custard creams,” the Doctor finally answers, head tipped back and lashes fluttering. 

Yaz’s relieved smile moulds against the space just above her belly button as she sinks to her knees. “Good.” 

The Doctor’s underwear is slick to the touch when Yaz strokes two fingers over her core, then nudges upwards to circle her sensitive nub through the material. “All this? Just for me?” 

The blonde’s cheeks redden tenfold and she squirms under her ghosting touches, yearning for more. She nods, quick and flustered. 

“Tell me, baby,” Yaz coaxes breathlessly, catching a dribble of moisture from the space where thigh meets backside just underneath her weathered boxers. She lifts it to her mouth, coating her bottom lip before swiping her tongue along it. “Tell me who you’re soaked through for.” 

“You, Yaz. Always you,” the Doctor all but whines, arching into her touch, desperate for more attention where she craves it most. “I need you,” she adds in a whisper, loud and needy enough to strike pleasure towards her counterpart’s gut. 

“Bed,” Yaz commands, straightening up and drawing her hoodie over her head when the heat of the room renders her clammy and overwhelmed. She’s all bare skin and faint white lines beneath, to the open delight of her girlfriend. 

Obediently, the Doctor crosses to sink into the plush mattress, swallowing heavily and unable to hide a shudder of anticipation when her girlfriend approaches. “You’re so beautiful, Yaz,” she hums in an equal mix of wonder and awe, reflexively reaching out for her once she’s close enough. “Absolutely sublime.” 

Dodging the Doctor’s extended arms, Yaz slips open the bedside drawer and appears to route around for a moment before securing her find. “No touching, remember?” 

“Yes.” The Doctor nods, dropping her arms to her sides as though they’re cuffed there. “Sorry, Yaz.”

Yaz’s smile is wry when she climbs onto the bed beside her, a warm palm slipping along from ankle to knee, then inching up to the hem of her boxers.“Good girl. Don’t think we’ll be needing these, will we?” 

With a slow shake of her head, the Doctor seeks out Yaz’s other hand with her eyes and wets her lips at the familiar deep purple vibrator she finds occupying its grip. “That for me?”

“If you’re good,” Yaz purrs, capturing her lips if only to silence any more curiosity. She uses her free hand to draw her underwear down her thighs, delighting in the shuddering gasp she gets when her fingertips grace wet warmth. “Which it seems you are, baby,” she adds, the words spoken into her mouth when lips part beneath hers. 

The Doctor’s head nods fervently despite their kiss, which deepens as soon as she has stilled. 

By the time she pulls away to lap her tongue along her bottom lip to the corner of her mouth, the Doctor is breathless and dizzy and soft beneath her like putty. She presses the toy against her swollen clit, ignoring the way the Doctor’s keening sigh leaves her own hips squirming. “Do you want me to turn it on?” 

“Yes!” the Doctor gasps, then backtracks with a soft hum of apology. “Yes, please, Yaz.”

“Hm,” Yaz drawls, tilting her head in faux-thought. “I think you can do a bit better than that, baby.” Her free hand smooths over her chest, catching at a hardened nipple and repeating the motion until tiny jolts roll like waves over her girlfriend’s lithe form. 

When the Doctor’s thighs close around the slickened toy as it drags over her clit, Yaz is there to pry them apart again. “Uh-uh, let me hear you beg first.”

“Please,” the alien whispers, high-pitched and needy while her hips roll desperately, seeking friction wherever possible. “Please, Yaz. I need you. Pleaseturnitonineedit.”

Yaz gulps at the knowledge that her girlfriend is this wound up because of  _ her _ doing, reeling with her new-found authority. The Doctor’s movements are getting more frantic by the second, coiling up and up while Yaz continues to explore her perfect chest— she’s never been one for patience. “How much do you need it?” 

“ _ Yaz,” _ the Doctor groans in frustration, but one firm look makes her wilt. “So much, Yaz. I’m so wound up — like I'm a can of Liturian cola and I’m fizzing inside,” she rambles quickly, jaw falling slack when finally, albeit suddenly, the toy buzzes to life. 

She jumps when Yaz settles the device against her clit, naked to the sweet, sweet sensations and braced for impact when it winds her up incredibly fast. 

“Good?” Yaz hums, lips and teeth at her ear in an instant as she sinks into her side. 

“Mm,” comes the Doctor’s purred response, thighs falling open as she arches into the direct stimulation Yaz continues to supply. “Mmsogoodthankyou.”

“Good girl,” Yaz praises, slipping a leg between her own to ease the desire set deep in her core. “You’re doing so well. Look at you; taking this; being so obedient; letting me touch you.” 

“Always, nnf— always, Yaz. Y’can always touch me,” the Doctor slurs, growing delirious. 

So, when she takes a steadying inhale, Yaz uses the element of surprise to turn the setting up and latch her lips against her neck at the same time. 

With a shout, her girlfriend arches, her back forming a perfect bow while she desperately bares down on the pressure. It’s almost too much. 

“ _ Yaz, _ ” she whimpers, fisting a hand in the sheets at her side. 

“Tell me when you’re about to come, baby,” Yaz purrs, laving her tongue over a reddish mark at the base of her neck. “D’you hear that?”

“Mm-hm, mm,” the Doctor mumbles, turning to bury her face against Yaz’s shoulder and pant against the slope of her neck — technically, she’s not touching her. 

“Clever girl,” Yaz hums when the fluttering breaths melting against her skin set her nerves on edge and goosebumps begin dotting her chest. 

The toy switches a stage higher and the Doctor’s answering cry drowns out its incessant buzzing. 

Yaz redirects its attention, dragging it through slick flesh to sink shallowly inside her. The vibrations pulse against her walls and the blonde seizes up with a whine. 

“Close! Yaz, I’m close.”

The second the words reach Yaz’s ears, she flicks the toy off and draws it away, counting her shaky pants for breath before the Doctor startles and jerks her hips into empty space. 

“What — why —  _ Yaz,”  _ the Doctor whimpers, fingers clutched in the sheets and breathless complains falling, slurred and high against Yaz’s shoulder. “Yaz, I need it. Please.”

Lifting her girlfriend’s chin with her free hand, Yaz drags the Doctor in for a messy kiss, licking her tongue into her mouth and swallowing her protests. 

“I know you want it, baby,” Yaz pants as she draws back, her own underwear clinging to the damp, growing heat between her legs. “But I promise you, if you can keep this up, it’ll feel so much better in the end,” she purrs, lips lifting into a smirk when the Doctor sinks back against her pillow, sweaty hair the perfect halo to accompany her glowing features. 

Yaz sighs out her wonder, observing the racing pulse in the Doctor’s neck when she drops her hand back down to her heat, brushing her fingertips against her soaked folds and raising them to taste. The action is encumbered by her girlfriend’s dazed eyes and shuddery breaths. “You’re so gorgeous like this. And you taste wonderful.”

“Please,” the Doctor mewls, arching her hips to guide her hand further up; to bump against her clit and send her spiralling again. “Gods, please, I need you.”

Too inthrall to deny her, Yaz returns the vibrating bullet to its rightful place, catching her throbbing bud at the right angle to leave the Doctor crying out into her ear. 

“Thank you — Yaz, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” she mumbles drunkenly, stomach muscles already tightening and coiling with the effort of holding back. “You’re brilliant; absolutely —  _ ah! —  _ whassit,” she reels, squirming with need when Yaz mercilessly turns the toy up and up. “Br— oh,  _ fuck.” _

The curse is unexpected but Yaz is certainly not complaining, breathing a low moan into the Doctor’s ear which only works her higher. 

“Close! Close, close, close,” the Doctor repeats less than a minute later, thighs clenching tight and fast against the toy until Yaz tuts and obediently, they fall open once more. 

The toy disappears alongside its consistent buzzing and Yaz props herself up on her elbow to take her in again.

The Doctor’s heaving breaths and closed eyes only add to the thoroughly-fucked look she has going on, a fiery flush igniting her chest and stomach, which, when Yaz slips a hand over, is as solid as a rock. “You’re so tight, Doctor. I can feel it, right here.”

Hot, searing lips press and mould against her chest again, a talented tongue teasing oversensitive nipples while the Doctor trembles with need. “I think I could make you come from this alone.”

“ _ Yaz, _ please,  _ anything _ , I just need to— I want to —” the Doctor’s words cut off with a sharp shout when the toy comes to rest against her again, set to its highest level and pressing hard and firm against her clit. 

As quick as it returns, the toy falls away again, the process repeating until the Doctor is all but sobbing into Yaz’s shoulder. 

“Beg,” Yaz whispers against her, grazing her teeth over a swollen bud in the process. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Please! Please, please, Yaz,” the Doctor shouts, toes curling in the sheets when dampened fingers sink past her core and both of Yaz’s hands are occupied in their tasks. “Please, I need this, I need to come. I need—” 

Yaz waits, and waits, and waits as her girlfriend reaches the edge, offering a wave of encouraging praise when she watches her desperately hold back until she has permission.

“Good girl,” she hums, sweeping between her legs the second she sees her control slipping. 

The Doctor is close to quitting and finishing herself off when the toy is tossed aside, but any protests she has shortly diminish when a hot mouth takes its place. 

“Let go,” Yaz purrs against her, fastening her lips around her clit and sucking noisily while soaked fingers work just under her chin, crooking inside her in a  _ come hither _ motion. It’s ironic, really. “Let me feel you.”

When the Doctor comes, blackness shrouds the edges of her vision and she’s extremely grateful the TARDIS walls are soundproof. Bless her ship, though, it has to endure one hell of a racket. 

Pulsing and shuddering against her girlfriend while wave after wave of pleasure renders her vocabulary empty other than Yaz’s name, the Doctor blinks and minutes pass by. 

When consciousness and full use of her limbs returns, Yaz is still mouthing at her clit, but her ministrations have slowed, brown eyes blown as she dedicates herself to the task. Her fingers move just as slowly and tenderly, crooking once, twice, three times more until the Doctor falls apart with another orgasm. 

Then one more, just so Yaz can see the absolute bliss and contentment lacing expressive features. 

She shuffles up when she senses her girlfriend can’t take anymore, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth and chin and drying her fingers in the sheets. They can wash them later. 

“Was that okay?” Yaz breathes softly, catching her breath against the curve of her shoulder while the Doctor continues to twitch and shudder at her side. 

“Yaz,” the Doctor starts, voice hoarse with use. It sends a spark of heat straight towards Yaz’s core but she sweeps her need aside for now. “That was  _ more _ than okay. That was —” her hands, weighed down like lead raise to flail in the air while she thinks up the right word. “ _ Brilliant.” _

Yaz’s responding laugh makes the Doctor flush and welcome warmth inhibit her weathered hearts, and when she turns to catch the tail end of her grin, she falls a little more. 

“Now, I think it’s your turn,” the blonde murmurs, leaning in to grace her prominent jaw in giddy, affectionate kisses. 

“This was about you, Doctor,” Yaz whispers, leaning into her touch in spite of her argument. “You don’t have to — I can just —” 

The Doctor shakes her head with a teasing smile, leaning on her elbow to press the younger woman down against the mattress. “I want to.”

By the time capable hands slip beneath the waistband of her underwear, Yaz is already coiled tight with pleasure. “Doctor, wait —”

Pulling back from Yaz’s chest, the Doctor blinks up at her in caution, brows adorably furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, perfect, just — I’m not going to last long,” Yaz pants softly, shifting suddenly so the Doctor is pressed back against the headrest and she’s perched in her lap, thighs astride her slim hips. “Not long at all.”

“I can work with that,” the Doctor beams, leaning in to capture her lips at the same time as deft fingers find sodden warmth. “Gods.”

“You —  _ ah —”  _ Yaz stammers, drawing back to pant shallowly against her collarbone. “You do that to me. Only you.”

“Only me,” the Doctor echoes in wonder, thumb finding her clit while capable fingers seek her core. She’s trembling in seconds, throaty gasps filling the space between them. “You’re amazing. Can I — do you want me  _ inside _ ?” 

“Please,” Yaz nods in fervour, sinking down against fingers, slick with her arousal, when they find her entrance and slip inside. “Good girl.”

The Doctor’s soft huff of a moan is not lost on her and she captures her lips to keep herself from smirking, but the heated kiss the Doctor offers winds her up ever faster. 

“Oh, fuck,” Yaz gasps into her mouth when talented fingers find the sweet spot inside her which always sends her careening towards the precipice. She rolls her hips, grinding into the pressure and clinging to her shoulders as she rides higher and higher. “I’m—” 

“You really weren’t joking, were you?” the Doctor pulls back to murmur, ducking her head to suck a pinkish mark against the underside of her breast. “Are you going to come, Yaz?”

Clenching around intruding fingers and keening when the Doctor adds a third, Yaz ducks her head under her chin and all but ruts against her working hand. “Yes, yeah —  _ fuck.”  _

When she comes, crescents form against the pale, perfect skin of the Doctor’s shoulders and back while she slumps, spent and shaking against her chest with a sharp cry. 

“I’ve got you, Yaz. I’ve got you,” the Doctor breathes into dark brown curls, taking in her scent and committing it to memory like countless times before. 

When the Doctor withdraws her hand, Yaz buries her face against her collarbone and sweeps her arms around her neck in a lazy move to press closer. 

“You always know what I need,” the Doctor hums against her scalp, nosing through the strands with a soft, contented sigh. She’s soft and relaxed and dazed against her girlfriend as she leans back into the pillows, taking Yaz with her. “Yasmin Khan, you are a godsend.” 

Yaz’s bashful cheeks and giddy giggle fall against her collarbone and the Doctor shivers. “Got you good, huh?”

The blonde’s pupils are heavy with affection when she regards her, wetting her lips while the bliss still thrumming through her veins continues to send her muscles trembling. “Think you did, yeah. Don’t think I’ll be moving anytime soon.” 

“Shame,” Yaz purrs, pressing a kiss to the reddened mark between her breasts before propping herself up, still effectively wrapped around the other woman’s hips. “Was hoping you’d be up for a bath.” She rests an elbow over her chest, propping her chin atop and fluttering her lashes. “With me.” 

“ _ Maybe _ I could make an exception,” the Doctor supplies, brows furrowing in faux-thought.

The steaming water swills and ripples when Yaz climbs into the large tub, offering a hand to guide her girlfriend into the space in front of her. Once she’s sat down without difficulty, her thighs slip alongside the Doctor’s hips and her arms curl around her waist, drawing her back against her chest with a hum. 

Limbs weighed down with exhaustion, the Doctor is putty in her hands when Yaz reaches for a bottle of what seems to be body wash, if the smell of peppermint synonymous with her girlfriend is anything to go by. Dribbling a small stream of the emerald liquid into her hand, she lathers it between her palms before moulding them against her shoulders and gently massaging any knots away. 

The Doctor’s approval is vocal, lashes fluttering while she purrs and keens. “Your hands are magical. Maybe it’s you they should've tried for witchcraft all those months ago.” She hisses when fingertips grace and knead the tension at her lower back, ducking her head forward with a pleased groan when it unravels. 

“Just relax,” Yaz murmurs, lathering up her palms once more to encircle her waist and work upwards. The Doctor’s head falls back against her shoulder when she reaches her chest, her hand finding Yaz’s thigh beneath the surface and brushing her thumb in easy circles against the smooth skin she finds. “You’re so tense. We should’ve done this sooner.”

“Mmm,” is all the response she gets in return, and with a gentle kiss to the space behind her ear, Yaz continues working at her muscles until the Doctor is half asleep against her and the water is starting to send goosebumps over her exposed flesh. 

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” she whispers against the shell of her ear, the water sloshing gently when she hooks her arms around her waist and guides her to her feet. Yaz steps out first, reaching for a fluffy purple towel and wrapping up the Doctor’s half-conscious form. “Babe,” she murmurs when the Doctor winds her arms around her hips in favour of returning to their room. She laughs against her scalp as she nestles her way under her chin like a feline. “Babe, come on.”

“M’comfy here,” the Doctor protests, but a slow, sighing exhale comes from the other woman and she lifts her head to meet a playfully chastising glare. “Fine. Take me to bed, Yasmin Khan.”

With a fond roll of her eyes, Yaz’s fingers slip between the alien’s own and she leads the way. 

Yaz is seconds from giving in to the hands of slumber when a hand at her hip shifts, tracing endless circles against the tops of her thighs. She can feel eyes on her, and when she blinks away sleep, she finds she’s right. 

Forehead pressed against her shoulder, the Doctor breathes a sigh as she traces the faint white lines gracing dark skin like the roots of trees, curious green following the movement until Yaz feels self-conscious. “I love these,” she whispers as if assuaging her thoughts, wonder joining the impossible mix of emotions in her expressive features. “A lot.”

“You really do?” Yaz murmurs on the edge of consciousness, emboldened by fatigue in the early hours of the morning. “I didn’t, before.”

“Before?” the Doctor whispers, innocent and light; open to answers but equally happy to return to the solace of comfortable silence. 

“Before you,” Yaz answers, ducking her head to press a kiss to her girlfriend’s hairline. 

The Doctor’s resulting smile puts the stars to shame. “Happy to help, Yaz. Want me to help prove it again?” Her hand climbs higher, then flutters against her abdomen in question. 

Torn, Yaz wets her lips, gaze flitting between the underlying heat in the Doctor’s eyes and the capable hand tenderly easing strong thighs apart. 

Lifting her girlfriend’s chin, she melts into the passionate kiss granted of her. “Please.” 

Another hour later, limbs still tingling and body warm beneath the Doctor’s own, Yaz repeats the same circular motions her girlfriend has been drawing against her skin for  _ months _ along the base of the Doctor’s spine. 

The Doctor’s surprised gasp catches her off guard and hazel eyes catch her own in tender recognition. 

“It’s Gallifreyan, right? Your — your native tongue?” Yaz queries, growing nervous beneath the blonde’s intense gaze. “The TARDIS has been giving me lessons. But — that — those words,” she continues, cheeks pinkening, heart thumping, blood rushing. “You’re telling me you love me.” 

“Busted,” the Doctor breathes, but her smile is brimming and as hopeful as ever. She lifts her head, regarding the ceiling in fond irritation. “Old girl? You’re in big trouble.” 

“Think she likes me more, that’s all,” Yaz teases, threading a hand through blonde locks before scratching lightly at the base of her neck, just the way she likes it. “Not surprising, really, when all you do is burn food and spill tea all over her.” 

“Yasmin Khan, you little —” 

“I love you too, by the way,” Yaz interrupts in a blurt, silencing the flushed alien in an instant. 

“That’s — that’s,” the Doctor starts a minute later, pink and bashful and giddy. She swallows; awed but gleeful. “That’s  _ brilliant.” _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!


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